


Uptown Girl

by SaunteringVaguelyDownwards



Category: Batman (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans, Young Justice
Genre: Gotham, Humor, M/M, high society - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunteringVaguelyDownwards/pseuds/SaunteringVaguelyDownwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kon goes to an enormously fancy party. With Tim. Which, awesome.</p>
<p>He is, however, not prepared for the Gotham High Society. Very much so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uptown Girl

**Author's Note:**

> An utterly silly piece of sillyness I wrote about a hundred years ago after marathoning various 3rd Robin storylines and needed to air my brains out. Henche the wannabe-teen-talk.
> 
> M read it, abolished a few s and declared it, indeed, utterly silly.

Kon thought it was pretty cool. Very cool, even. _Enormously_ cool, in fact. 

Kon was going to a fancy party. A very fancy party, even. An _enormously_ fancy party, in fact. The fanciest party _in all of Gotham_ , to be exact. Hosted by Bruce Wayne, fanciest fancypants who ever fancied to throw fancy parties. Gathering the crème de la crème de la crème of Gotham, which meant more pure carat gold per square meter than behind the steel doors of of Fort Knox. _That_ was where Kon was going. With Tim. Which was like the _cherry_ on top. 

So Kon was all understandably giddy and hyped and a tiny bit freaked when Tim picked him up, in a car so broad and black it practically chewed up the road and left behind only mangled leftovers for lesser cars to use. Tim was sitting in the plush leather backseat, wearing something so expensive it was probably worth half of Marthas farm and smiling like the rich kid he was or was pretending to be. 

It actually looked frightfully natural on him. It did nothing for Kons nerves.

Kon adjusted his glasses a bit, rearranged the terrible, abominable suspenders Tim had insisted on and had to grudgingly admit he _rocked_ the geek look. Talk about Karma and biting ass and such. On the bright side, he wouldn't have to do much acting either to get the 'totally-smitten-boyfriend-from-Metropolis' persona they'd decided on across. So all in all, nerves aside, Kon was _really_ looking forward to enjoying an evening at an _enormously_ fancy party with Tim. 

He was, however, not prepared. Not at all.

 

He found out exactly how unprepared he was at the doors. One second, Tim was just smiling a reassuring Bat-smile at him, the one that didn't actually make use of anything but a miniscule lifting of the corners of the mouth, vaguely calming Kons increasingly frayed nerves with a look that said _don't worry, I've got a grapple hook and three motorcycles stashed in secret locations and a brain the size of Wikipedia and the Goddamn Batman as backup, no need to panic over that giant squid over there._

The next Tim had a huge toothy grin plastered all over his face that said he had a servant to tie his _shoelaces_ and a private jet on standby and was the absolute top predator in this town and he knew it. He passed the door with what can only be described as a fucking _flourish_ , slightly befuddled Kon in tow, because sudden personality changes were still not something Kon had gotten properly used to despite extended exposure to the Batclan, and then Tim entered the grand room like he _owned_ it, which, by heritage, money, and social pecking order, he probably did. 

 

Kon was used to all kinds of supervillains trying to suckerpunch the life out of him, throwing kryptonite, radioactive toxins and small buildings his way. He was used to dealing with a bunch of hyperactive, moody, hormone-driven, super-powered teenagers in dire need of distraction lest they level cities by accident. He could deal with that. He was fine with that. His day felt kinda incomplete without a fair-sized farmhouse dropping on his head.

But he definitely wasn't prepared for being offered as a virgin sacrifice to the Gotham high society, which, let it be said with feeling, were bloodthirsty assassins bent on world domination just like any other threat to the free world, but in much more tasteful gowns. 

Women wearing amounts of jewels that spoke of amazing neck muscles descended upon him and Tim like glittery vultures ogling the newest meat in the desert and gauging the best vantage point to feast on the inevitable mess. Men with more colorful cocktails than he'd seen on Marthas' rooster tried to make their way towards them, pushing potbellies filled with old money and inherited self-importance through the masses to ease their way, an air of my-yacht-is-bigger-than-yours hanging around them like a particularly persistent cologne. Servants wearing livrées laden with more tacky embroidery than a small Chinese factory could produce in a year shoved drinks into his hands and worst of all, Tim was still _grinning like a million dollars_.

Probably at him.

 

Tim was, as it turned out, _perfectly_ prepared for this glitzy madness. He was trading jokes left and right, complimenting that lady Kon-forgot-her-name for her latest save-the-mahogany-trees donation and humoring mister Kon-didn't-care-for-his-name about his new hideously expensive race horse, with that sticky high-class grin firmly plastered all over his face. It was, to put it mildly, creepy as a Bat could get without a cape. It was even creepier than the Infamous Alvin Draper Act, which was a feat in and of itself. Probably because he was wearing more clothes this time. Kon hid behind Tim, squeezed his eyes shut to avoid sudden blindness by massive bling, and hoped for the best.

 

After about half an hour, Kon managed to get some air next to a window the smokers hadn't yet discovered and populated like fresh air was going out of fashion. He was exhausted. He was a _meta_ and he was bloody _exhausted_. He thought he'd seen it all, Rouges Gone Wild United and dying three times so far and creating parallel universes by the by, but, _no_. This spectacle was nothing short of cripplingly horrifying, like a gilded haunted house. It chilled him to the bone and painted boring old Smallville in a pleasantly pink-tinged light of fond nostalgia and romanticized notions of _Not. Here_.

To his further embarrassment, to say he and Tim had caused quite a sensation was a rude and unjust understatement: they caused a tide which dictated the flow of the party gossip with an ironclad fist, and once you got past the embellishing crust of scorned made-up exes and illicit liaisons on a mystery island belonging to an oil sheik, boiled down to this: Handsome ward of Bruce Wayne is having his public coming out, driving several of the higher daughters into serious contemplations of suicide, handsome mystery guest turns out to be – surprise, surprise – his geeky, socially awkward, totally smitten boyfriend from Metropolis (Kon _really_ didn't have to do much acting) and now all of Gothams High Society gossipers wanted to devour as much of the saucy cake as possible. 

Kon, in the safety of his window, took a sip of one of the few drinks he was actually allowed to have, anything just laced with a hint of alcohol mysteriously disappearing once he got into its relative vicinity. Damn Bats and their damn pickpocket training. 

Wrapping his head around the idea that Tim had a very flashy and flamboyant and _creepy_ character ready for these kinds of parties wasn't all that easy. All the more since he insisted that Kon should be, as mentioned, as geeky and awkward and smitten as possible, again, as mentioned, not very hard to do. Tim had even gone so far as to suggest to add a little Midwestern flavor to the mix, hence the ridiculously quaint suspenders in _plaid_. And now what was the point in that? If Tim was going to be all super suave socialite, wouldn't it be more appropriate to paint Kon a worldly-wise slacker of respectable monetary background as well? But the way Tim had constructed this parade, they were playing polar opposites on _all_ kinds of levels, which not only made Kon feel grossly undervalued (walking, talking medical sensation here, please) but also _dumb_. In comparison. Which sucked.

 

Kon didn't need to use his super-hearing abilities to dip into the conversations that revolved around Tim not being available on the marriage market any more (the girls who had gotten over that suicide idea now switched to shooting murderous glares at Kon, who once stood up to Poison Ivy, and was _still_ terrified), praised the modern, open-minded example they were setting (through some rather gritted teeth), but, most importantly, predictably and boringly, questions about Kons status, heritage and financial interests were traded like insider tips at the stock exchange. 

Was he from a suitably snooty family? To which preserve-the-wales program had they last donated, and how much? Were his glasses YSL or Prada? Or from some small artsy upstart venture that was going to be the Next Big Thing? (they actually were Tom Ford and Tims hilarious idea of a present) Was his car expensive enough? Hell, did he even _own_ a car?

Kon felt ready to belch, because he had saved these snobby peoples sorry asses, a few times probably, of which they remained delightfully ignorant and pleasantly continued their interrogation practices from the witch hunting times. 

This was so not cool.

 

Kon decided to make the best of the evening and try to inconspicuously rob the mile-long buffet, when somebody yanked his arm and spun him around so quickly he very nearly sent his glass on its merry way. Great thing, tactile telekinesis. Saves you not only from supervillains bent on dark and sinister plans of mass destruction but also from making yourself look like a fool who breaks glasses more expensive than your entire college education. Kon faced Tims grin and was promptly almost blindsided. The guy wielded smiles like weapons, and boy, it worked.

Tim had apparently decided that people needed to learn to love Kon, or at least acknowledge his dashing suspenders, and dragged Kon to meet Very Important People, including but not limited to the Vice President of the United States, who wore high heels that could probably crush small countries, the morbidly obese Head of the Gotham City Bank, who kept eying the ice cream section of the humongous buffet longingly, and a man who had a living snake wrapped around his neck. He called it Arthur. 

Kon tried to avoid Tim's murderous groupies (who by now seemed to have formed a plan of conjunct attack and subsequently, Kon sniffed his drinks very carefully), smiled a lot at everyone just to spite those trying to bling-bling him into retreat and be generally be as geeky-embarrassed as possible. (acting talent required: zilch)

He gritted his teeth in what passed for a polite grin, grabbed Tims hand for a bit of comfort (which would never ever be mentioned later) and held painfully pretentious conversations about the merits of Metropolis going green via the largest solar panels a mountain could hold before it collapsed under all that goodwill, and shared his humble opinions about off-shore fishing in Alaska and the nasty, nasty TV-series it tended to spew out. It wasn't easy, but at least not out of his league, and he gleefully surprised quite a few of the high-nosed socialites with his insider-tip that yes, plaid _everything_ is going to be the hottest piece of shit this time tomorrow and his intimate knowledge of the current hacking order among the famous and infamous of the Gotham Underworld. The merits of dating a Bat.

Tims very supercilious, very upper-classy persona, however, was still giving him the creeps. Kon would rather try to steal the Batmobile in full action mode than admit it, but he felt massively inferior to his flamboyant boyfriend, thanks to being a head taller than Tim but still totally getting outshined, outtalked and outglittered by the cunning little creep. Maybe, in a very roundabout and backstabbing way, Tim wanted to cash in some revenge for all the times Kon argued his perfectly rational team leader decisions for the fun of being difficult, ridiculed his alter egos – then again, who, besides Dick, who _invented_ ridiculous alter egos, didn't – or nagged about Tim being stuck up and boring and stuffy. Well, way to prove the opposite.

 

As the party continued into the night, Kon found himself thinking and musing and then grinning a bit. Because then again, maybe Tim was not quite so gun-ho about petty revenge and making Kon look like a Midwestern travesty. Maybe Tim was just being a Bat with a typically batty Bat-plan. 

Kon actually _didn't have to do_ much fancy talking, and the little he was peer-pressured into concerned topics he couldn't fail too badly, like Superman saving the world from aliens that look like frogs in teacups and the engagement of one Bruce Wayne to one Selina Kyle and the subsequent mass suicides among the _older_ higher daughters (it clearly ran in the adopted family) and how _insane_ the Joker was these days (no, really). Maybe, Kon mused with a hint of mental apology, while Tim chatted about the importance of fiber in your south beach diet, Tim being glitzy and high society-y and the life of the party contrasted with him being geeky and smitten and the king of awkward in a _good_ way. Maybe Kon would not be asked to actually show off a Lamborghini or a Rolex or a small island, all thanks to Tim The Socialite charming his way through the party and showing off how adorably smitten and agreeable and refreshingly non-preposterous his geeky boyfriend from Metropolis was. And then the German cultural attaché asked him for his grandmas recipe for good old-fashioned apple pie, and things started to dawn properly on Kon. 

 

The gossip tide began to turn, and people whispered about his dedication to saving not only the whales, but the dolphins too, and how it was actually very _cute_ he didn't let go of Tims hand even in front of the vice president (who may or may not be attending the festivities with a lady who may or may not actually be just her secretary) and how Tom Ford glasses were going to be the likely new it-bag next year. Kon grinned some more, because he was finally starting to have honest-to-god _fun_ here, handed his boyfriend a colorful cocktail that contained more sugar than he knew Tim could handle, and set himself up to enjoying the enormously fancy party.

_Maybe_ , in a typically twisted Bat-hanging-upside-down-broodly-in-the-Batcave-kind of way, Tim hat non-prepared him perfectly. Bloody bats.  



End file.
